A boy who is afraid of the darkness
by Mary Zrw2800
Summary: Any interrogation can go wrong, but it's extremely dangerous if it's interrogation with a serial killer. (This is a re-edited version)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: another work, guys! Will be great to see your reviews :) I really want to know your opinion about it, 'cause this experience is very important to me, so... enjoy reading!**

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"Booth, have you taken the pills?" Temperance worried during she put some things into her bag.

"No, I haven't yet," he answered, running into the kitchen with the undone tie around his neck and thinking 'bout hot and taste pancakes with syrop; "I'll drink it after a meal."

"Okay, beg you, don't forget," she said it by voice full of care; "And take it to work, I bet, you'll obviously need it today."

"Bones, dear, stop it" he said it with "bad-feeling face". " I don't want to remember about this stinker in the morning. He takes away my appetite."

She laughed and came towards the husband and kissed him softly in the vertex, during his pleasure 'cos of breakfast.

"Do you want it or don't - there's nobody cares. Tou just need to talk to him," Brennan put her arms onto her husbonds' shoulders.

"I know," laughed tensely; "I'm going to get all information he has."

"Try to do it. By the way, he had a birthday recently. Just a note. Maybe you'll find how to use this information. "

"How much?"

"Thirty years."

"He became this asshole in age of thirty." Although, it's never too early to become an asshole," he added by the sad voice; "So, I'll decide what I have to do by the time."

"I just beg you," sha whispered; "Do it without extremes."

Now, I guess, it's time to talk 'bout pills behind: it wasn't the simple pills (have you ever seen the simple pills?) It makes people to keep calm and takes hard energy, making this one softly. So, why does Booth need it? Fortunately, he hadn't had any serious problems with his mind, which would got injure him and his family. He takes it 'cos of Pelant with his distractive things. He spoild the nervous system of Booth; thats why Booth forget sometimes who is he. He could talk back or tell black jokes, and some time ago he started to laugh like crazy. And it concerned the killers mostly. It doesn't mean he hits them. No, he invented another method — pressure. At some times when he talks to killers he looked like Hongins with his addiction theory. He usually asked Angela for find some confidence information about human, all, that can broke him even without recognition of murder and the suspect only had to sign a frank confession. It was cruelly, violently partly, but lawfully and always worked. An FBI department was absolutely lucky with this. They won about ten hearings on different murders, including gravest crimes which were worthy of a punishment. But this system didn't work with Pelant 'cause the most important information about him disappeared from time and again, though rewrite it by hand, truly! Computers — our world, our present, and it's hard to play a race with a man who keeps the present in check and turns it how he want. Brennan was most afraid that Booth would cross the line and be immediately dismissed from investigation if not fired at all. One way or another, pills, prescribed by doctor Sweets, had no narcotic descent, but this didn't prevent it from coping with their task excellently and keeping his emotions under control. He took it rarely: only twice for the last month, since his behavior usually didn't go beyond, apart from his alternative approach to extracting recognition, but now the risk of breaking away was higher than ever.

Booth didn't like to feel faint. In other words, he hated it. And What normal person will be delighted with this? He prepared for interrogation for a week, tried to make himself liable to stress less, even agreed with Temperance and drank some stinky fresh teas just to regain checkout over the nerves. He finally put the jar of pills in his pocket, having not taken a single one in the morning, and set to work, trying to prove to himself, first of all, that he completely owns his mind.

~oooOOOooo~

The door to the dark room opened abruptly. Booth flew inside as an enraged beast and plopped a folder with evidences on the desk so hard that Pelant shivered from surprise.

"How can I help you?" the criminal asked, pursed his lips and opened his eyes wide. If he would have a hat and boots, he would look like the famous cat from Shrek.

"You know," Seeley sat down, "Nothing, I'm afraid."

"What a pi..."

"Except with confession of murder and a detailed account of how it happened and where did you hide the body. We can give you a paper, even more than one sheet, a pen. Maybe you want to write an essay, as in a high school, or decorate your story with butterflies on the margins — you're welcome, I don't care, just write."

"What are you talking about?" he raised eyebrows indignantly; "A murder? No-no-no, it's a mistake, probably."

"Well," Booth clapped on the table loudly and smiled falsely, regretting he can't clamp these hands around his neck; "Then I'm going to buy a coffee. Want to?"

"No, thank you"

"That's right. There are rumors that it influences negatively on the heart. And it will sad if you die from the infarct in my shift."

"Oh, so cute than FBI agents care about my health. I almost whined."

"Always glad to help,"

He abstained from reverence heavily and leaved the room again after their short and empty dialogue: he saw proper to give him a little time to put his thinking-cap on and sigh above the folder of indirect evidences. He also didn't want to hand-feed it for him 'cause Pelant knew it anyway.

He returned across about twenty minutes with a glass of latte. Christofer was still sitting on his place, viewing chain of handcuffs from boredom or just glancing over the room where he was quite often before. Confident, calm, talkative sufficiently — impeccable tactic for a cold-blooded serial killer.

"Any progress?"

"Nothing interesting, agent Booth," Chris sighed tiredly; "I don't understand why you're refraining me here."

"I left you a document, actually. Everything is written there. Fortunately, you know how to read."

"Oh, that documents," the hacker took the papers in his hands and began fanning them; "I've read — boredom. No direct proof."

"By the way, hurrying to congratulate you," Seeley had a sip of his coffee, drinking a glass dry.

"With what?"

"With the last birthday, of course," he tried to put as much positive into his voice as he can; "Thirty years, great date."

"Thank you," He smiled in embarrassment and dropped his eyes; "I didn't think you're so sentimental."

"And how did you celebrate it? Alone, as always? You even haven't got friends," Seeley spot out poisonously; "Keep sure I'm sentimental?"

"Seemed," he glanced darkly at him, with hatred and injury; "What did she find in you... Not a sense of humor, certainly."

The caustic phrase that even barely affected Temperance was as a real red rag for Booth, and Pelant knew it very well, knew how to get him out of himself in seconds and use it for his own purposes.

A bit more and the agent would become ungovernable. He went angry immediately, flashed as a match, but if the match dies out quickly, it didn't work with Booth. The FBI employee jumped up from his seat and punched the table with fists, when the criminal recoiled in horror and shouted our his arms, ready to scream: "Rape, help!" and stray faintly, but it didn't happen: Booth gritted his teeth until the scratch and run out, leaving Christofer stay partly in confusion, partly in disappointment.

He exited in a hall, ran for the dispenser and gathered a full glass of cold water. Then he pulled out the oblong jar and poured pills on the hand. How many does it need for one time? Two? Three, maximum? He took five at once and ingested. Brennan was right: he had to took it at the morning and kept his mouth closed.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Sweets who just walked nearby asked; "Has he already rouse you?"

Booth nodded silently, drunk the whole lot at a gulp, then crumpled a plastic glass crossly and threw it away.

"Maybe you need to stop interrogation? Let me talk with him," Lance had the best of intentions; "I'm a psychologist, besides, I really want to finish my report about Pelant".

"Not worth," he rubbed his bride of the nose and gathered brows; "After what time these pills will affect?"

"Depends on how much you took. How many did you take?"

"Enough".

"From ten minutes until a half-hour, I think," the psychologist moved the sleeve and looked at his watch; "Sorry, Brennan is waiting me at the bottom. She said will be better if I estimate bones and murder reconstruction from the professional point of view".

"So, good luck. We have to take him, otherwise he will reach us," he turned back cautiously.

"Just ignore if it happens again — a good council. He tries to find you weakness and instigate a conflict. Then you will be suspended from the investigation and that's all — he is on a roll".

"Huh, I'd like to tell you where he is, and he wriggled into it over his head. And I'm afraid it's late, 'cause he has already found my weakness, now it is my turn," Seeley coughed, fixed his tie and went to the room in a third time.

 _"Have these pills an adverse reaction?"_ he stood in front of the door with that thought, put the jar out again and began to read the small text on the label; _"So, it can have an opposite effect with an overdose: increased sensitivity, emotionality, changes in mood, hyperexcitability. Well, six tablets - not too much ... It is not recommended to eat with energy and stimulating drinks? Really? Although, there isn't much caffeine in the latte. I hope ... "_

"Something else?" asked Pelant right off the bat.

"Listen to me," Booth prayed to God for help him control his anger; "We haven't got a body, right. In point of fact we can't approve it was murder at all, but I know: this sin is on your soul".

"So prove it, onward and upward," he put his arms on the table defiantly and chains rattled loudly upon the metal сountertop.

"No matter how you are clever and prudent, you will you'll make a mistake one day. Even Achilles had his heel, so we'll necessary find yours," threatened the FBI agent, but then he put on a brave face; "If you haven't got secrets, I think l'd go and get a search order. You don't mind, do you?

"For God's sake. You was there so many times that absolutely can call it your home too. Come in if it becomes boring".

 _"And how can you entertain me?"_ Seeley wanted to say, but resisted. On top of that, possible answers seemed to him so stupid and partly obscene, that he felt disgusted by own dirty mind.

"Do you want to go with me?"

"Is it necessary? You know l'm a lazy person, agent Booth," he walked tall again, suppressing the urge to yawn.

"Come on, come on, it isn't far. A dozen steps to the elevator, and there to the second floor".

Christopher sighed heavily and leaned his head down, getting up from the chair, but didn't oppose and trudged off from the room.

~oooOOOooo~

Usually thе level was fully crowded: someone practiced with documents, rustling among the reports, someone ran from pillar to post, noise is everywhere, but at hard Monday morning all the staff scattered at their places and work quietly with their own. People who wanted to join them and go down also didn't appear, so Booth dragged Pelant in an empty elevator by the hand and pressed the button. There was a typical signal, the steel doors closed and an arrow on a small electronic scoreboard at the bottom of the panel caught fire. However, they didn't have time to think about anything else, to come to their senses from the interrogation, when the elevator froze with a roar, flying just a couple of floors and stopping between them, and after a moment the light turned off and a hush fell over there.


	2. Chapter 2

"Great! This exactly what I want!" Booth spoke with his tongue in his cheek; "A frigging tin!"

There was a silence in the answer. Just quiet steps to the far corner and the light jingle of handcuffs.

"Interesting..." he cell the dispatcher, but only annoying endless beeps were from there; "Dammit! It seems we got stuck here for a long. Unfortunately, you're with me."

There was no reaction again. Seeley became tense instantly, nervous: nobody knew what Pelant has in mind. He may attack — and fight with him after that till the last, with this massive horse. Booth took a small flashlight feverishly and turned it on, illuminating the elevator, but his worry immediately changed to confusion: Pelant was sitting on the floor, in the corner, pulling up his legs, and desperately trying to take of the chains, shredding his wrists till it bleeds. He squinted from a sudden light and looked away.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" the agent rushed at him; "Do you want to lose your arms?!"

He wasn't going to shout — words just slipped out from his mouth, but the criminal shied and shrinked more, as if Seeley hit at him with the fist.

"N-nothing. Get lost."

"Well, need like a hole in the head," he grumbled, but suddenly something like guilt nettled his heart, as if he really hurt him. But even if he beat him to the death he'd never feel guilt. 'Cause it's Christopher Pelant, he doesn't appear worthy of luxury like compassion.

 _"Pills. Adverse effect. So quickly... I'll never ever take this shit again!"_ he yelped to himself; _"But he's lucky: I won't rip him to shreds at least."_

He didn't know what he must do next. He didn't use to stuck in the elevator with a serial killer throughout all of his work experience. In impenetrable darkness, besides.

 _"Wait a minute,"_ the thought visited him all at once, nipped into his head; _"Is he afraid of the darkness?"_

Stupid, absurd, foolish theory, and he couldn't help but check. Booth specially moved back and turned his flashlight off.

"Keep the light on," immediate answer; Seeley has never heard so much pleading in his voice before; "Please."

 _"He's pretending, he's boldly pretending, I'm sure ... It can't be true. Nobody will believe me, if I tell."_

"So, so, so", Seeley savored, blurring in a predatory, malicious smile; "Is someone afraid of the dark here?"

"I'm not afraid," Chris courageously denied; "Turn it on! Is it too hard for you?"

"Why? You're not afraid, and, suppose, the light is blinding me. Come on, face it."

"No."

"Well, that's it," the man mocked, fingering the flashlight in his hands.

"It's just ... It's just that I'm ... I'm not scared, okay? It's not pleasant."

"Why? What in the dark is so unpleasant?" Booth moved up to him again purely out of curiosity.

"It's not about it," his quick breathing burst out involuntarily, no matter how hard he tried to hide it; "It's unpleasant to imagine what might be hidden in it."

"What? You and me," the agent spread his hands in confusion.

"It's for the others," the criminal muttered, clinging with his shivery fingers for the ferrules of the handcuffs.

"Is it different for you?"

The belief that Pelant is feigning was disappearing gradually. Of course, he's a magnificent actor, but the flair prompted that not this time. It was a flair, because there was no point in doubting his abilities: he would easily pull the role of someone who suffers from phobia.

"I want you to never know what's going on in my head," a nervous laugh; "Ne-ver."

"But what if I try?" he was already too close, literally pressing him into the wall, and poked with the pen of a flashlight on his cheek.

"This is no deal," he pushed him with his shoulder; "What's wrong with you, agent Booth? In my opinion, you make free with. Did the coffee affect?"

"Maybe. What, going to tell on me?"

"And I will," Christopher turned towards him; "Any doubts?"

"What a rat you are, Pelant," there were shades of disgust in his voice; "It was a bad idea to play nice with you."

"Yes, I'm a rat. But rats are the most enduring ones. And is it really called "play nice"?"

"I'll tell you what, should I lick your boots? Too much honor," the sarcastic reply didn't take long.

A long silence fell over the elevator. Seeley didn't know what to say and whether or not it should be done at all. In another situation, he would certainly have started throwing a cloud of nasty jokes to him, clinging to almost every word, but now for some reason he didn't want to rub salt into his old wounds, but as well he didn't hurry up to turn the light on, from the principle, despite he saw: Pelant is really feelt uncomfortable.

"Tell me what you see in the dark. Anyway, the it doesn't apply in investigation any way. I think we'll sit here for a long time, so... we must talk about something."

"And have we necessary talk exactly about me?" he resisted.

"I was always sure you like when people are talking about you. A sort of villain-narcissist," the agent crossed his arms on breast.

"An indisputable argument," the criminal snorted, and then added: "It's good if you promise not to tell anyone. Although, you'll tell, I'm sure."

"Why? I'm not a rat, unlike someone," he shoved him again, especially, but hacker just clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes up.

"In general, the deal is in my memory," Pelant took a deep breath and blinked; "I see everything I've ever read, I've ever heard, in front of me. If concentrate, there may be acoustic hallucinations".

Booth had never heard something like this before. Probably, it was a bad choice of words on Pelant's part and the problem lies in his sick imagination, not in his memory, but it still sounded terrible.

"A schizophrenia?"

"I'll see your dammed first. Fortunately, I haven't got it", he shook his head; "But all the memories are... They compass me from my teen years. They're like spotlights, so real. Usually I can deal with them, but not always."

Booth gazed at him again, and moments of his life story rose to his view: a shape of oppressed unfortunate, unwanted, of everlasting one-aloner, of boring awkward nerd and outlaw. And now he imagined before him not a dangerous killer at all, who imprudently spits in FBI agents' faces with his antics; he saw the same child who had been deprived of public recognition. Seeley didn't see his emotions, 'cause of the darkness, his expression, hurried glance, but he knew for sure he's right. He was admitting that Christopher could lie to him about gnawing memories, that everything with his feeling and mental health in real is worse than he told. Not in vain Sweets is so worried. Suddenly Seeley conceived a strange feeling which he had never been experienced in relation to Pelant before, a desire to help. For a few moments he had even forgot who he was sitting with. But after that he quickly collected himself.

 _"Damn it, I had to drink less pills. I turn into a dishrag from it!"_

"And what do you do when it happens?" he held his peace for a while and finally asked.

"Well, I just need to prescind," screwed face into a smile and shrugged; "But you never can tell."

"Is it constantly?"

"Only sometimes, in stressful situations. If it would be every time I would shot myself long ago. I'm smarter than others, my brain works differently, and, believe me, it's not a gift, it's a damn curse."

"I know a person who would argue with you," Booth narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"About the curse?"

"No, about your opinion that you're smarter than others."

"Ah, then I also know. And, I'm sure, now we are talking about the same person."

~oooOOOooo~

"What's happening there?" Temperance wailed, smacking her hand down on the iron door of the elevator. She was going to talk with Booth about the sudden information, until Christopher again escaped and left the FBI department; "I hope the stuckers called the dispatcher. Why no one can rise or go down?"

"And who is stuck?" asked Sweets, although he knew perfectly well that it was impossible to give an exact answer; "I was in this elevator ten minutes ago. Maybe you'll let me take a look at the case documents?"

"I have no idea. Hundreds of people work here. Booth and Pelant remained alone at the interrogation there, but I can't come to them. Yes, here you are," the woman handed him a folder full of body photos and of other important evidences; "You should have a look at the reconstruction, but, according to circumstances, it will wait. In general, if nothing changes, let's go up the stairs."

"On the sixth floor?" Lance made a wry mouth.

"Well, but who is in fault that the interrogation rooms at the top," she exhaled nervously and clutched her head.

~oooOOOooo~

"What do you think about her?" Booth screwed up his lips, taking the breath.

"Oh, she's beautiful," he smiled; "You're very lucky with her."

"And?"

"You want to hear something else, right?" Pelant laughed nervously and dropped his eyes.

"Exactly. And I have good reason for this. Once you pledge, don't hedge."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'll never believe that you don't have evil intentions," Booth continued aggressively.

"She's magnificent, as I said, she's smart and calm, she's a kind human, so I can't stop obsessing her. Sorry, agent Booth," it sounded horrible, but honest, and Seeley was thankful for confession deep in mind.

"But why? What you suppose to do?"

"Oh, it's a long story," smiled and sclosed his eyes dreamily; "I'm not sure you're ready to listen it."

"Don't say much, just tell me: would you kill her?"

"I wouldn't kill somebody I really love, despite I know that she won't ever love me back. I'm..." he frowned and shook his head; "Possibly, I'm not her type..."

"No. Absolutely wrong. You're not ugly, Pelant. What? Stop watching me like that, I'm not lying. You'll surprise, but the problem is in your dark soul. In the most of your soul."

"The most?" repeated wonderingly; "Do you think I'm..."

Noises from the first floor redoubled loudly all over the elevator shaft and were so unexpected that Pelant startled aside from the corner, impaling himself upon Booth by the meres accident.

"Calm down," he grabbed him by the shoulders reflexively, dropping a flashlight from hands; "Keep your head, just someone below doesn't want to go by stairs."

"Yep..." the criminal said, exhaling and pausing for a second: he felt more comfortable than earlier, peacefully, but immediately hurried to come back when he understood the reason. But unsuccessful: Seeley seized him by the hand plenty.

"Want an advise? Don't nook, you can't escape from there if it's necessary," the agent observed silently and released him, and Pelant disconcertingly gave credence to his words and stayed near, bumping into the wall.

"A good advise. I won't ask where you learned it."

"I hear, a lot of people are afraid of suffocate in the elevator," Booth began, although this theme wasn't brilliant for their conversation.

"It is a stupid phobia," a computer genius answered straight-out, pulling up his legs, and burrowed face into his bended knees; "Every elevator has a ventilation. Specially for these situations and these idiots."

"And what about ropes? Are you scared that it will break off?" he simply couldn't stop, not thinking he slowly and surely bullying Christopher into a panic.

"You couldn't find more positive topic for conversation in a stuck elevator?" Pelant broke down, sidling a glance at him, and then decided to get on a roll; "Maybe you need to call the dispatcher again?"

"A great idea."

Booth smacked his hands down on his knees and stood up, coming to the panel, but Pelant didn't loose his chance and take up the flashlight from the ground, turning it on.

 _"You son of a bitch,"_ said Seeley, laughing to himself _,_ calling the dispatcher; _"He deceived me."_

He turned to him and was going to repeat it aloud, but suddenly shouted and put his hands up: Pelant held a flashlight to his chin and smiled widely, scaring him till the death.

"Well, you are an idiot! And this you're telling me about my shitty sense of humor?!"

"Admit it was funny," he laughed maliciously.

"Look at him, you feared as the devil fears the holy water recently," Booth said rudely, but quickly stopped himself; "What, too bad without light at all?"

The criminal nodded silently and foolishly smiled.

"Ok, I know how stupid I'm looking now, don't stare at me. A thirty years old boy who is afraid of the darkness," he snapped out, noticing that Booth's gazing at him quite strangely; "Any progress with a dispatcher?"

But Christopher had a mistake: it wasn't a quizzical glance. Rather... Of course, there was any rubbles of irony in it, but beneath him was a kind of calm, emotion and a hidden smile from the whole goings-on. And Seeley couldn't understand why he isn't feel any rage or irritation now, why he stopped seeing a danger in Pelant, but only regretting him mentally, why he's comparing him with a helpless child and also marveling at his own emotionality. It seemed like Booth was looking at him for the first time, from a completely different side, noting with astonishment, how harmless and expansive he's able to look, depending on the situation. Can pills make such a strong influence?

"Absolutely nothing. Oh my God, what's wrong with them? They that there, have died that? And they're get a money for it. Unbelievable irresponsibility," Seeley slammed fist on the wall crossly; "I'm sure the others are already finding the solution for this problem. Nobody want to go up the stairs to the sixth floor."

The man returned and sat down near him, snuffling. He looked at his wrists and handcuffs, in some places painted in red. Now, in the light, it could be clearly discerned. Even during the conversation the criminal naively tried to get free, as if the chain will break, as If it can break, but unsuccessful: only his skin was suffering. And seemed like he's not feel the pain, the burning sensation from the cold metal, continuing involuntarily to maim himself.

"And what l must do with you, Christopher Pelant? I wouldn't think not at any price that a human like you has such a awkward phobia."

"I wouldn't think not at any price too that you can communicate without sarcasm and prepossession."

"And you without assumption," the agent agreed; "Damn, I wasn't going to apologize, but... Sorry for those joke about your birthday. If I were you, I'd struck me."

"Sorry for my sharp words about Temperance. I didn't have to say that. We both love her, and I decided that my answer can make you angry. If I were you, I'd broke my neck."

Booth smiled and looked at him favorably.

"It's her choice, Christopher, don't make her suffer," he suddenly addressed him by name; "You're killing her from the inside, slowly and painfully, not us, you breaking her."

"That's my essence."

"No, that's your desires. No more sheltering yourself behind your mind."

Pelant was too perturbate and confused for an answer, so he kept a silent.

"Hey, give it to me, just for a second," the agent nodded at the flashlight.

One thought, rather, one idea, suddenly flashed in his mind, and it was so strange that at first he was even twisted from his own abnormality, but he didn't understand why and, not really thinking about the consequences, decided to try.

"Damned pills! his brain shouted; "You would have drunk another ten, then it's not at all clear what would happened! Drop, drop this venture immediately!"

"For what?" the criminal took fright, clasping the only light engine stronger.

"It's needed. I want to show you something."

"For example?"

"How to stop scaring the darkness."

"Not worth," the hacker was disagreeing, feeling that Booth just will turn the light off in his despite, but the agent pull it out of his hands.

He hid it behind his back and turned off, as Pelant thought, and by the reason of it darkness reigned in the elevator again. Moreover, their eyes which already accustomed to the light, couldn't see anything at all.

"And what now?" Pelant's voice instantly acquired the former anxiety, which was so alien to him, but which made Booth more and more imbued with something positive; "It figures."

"Just wait and look at me," he took a breath, ignoring all of his brain attempts to stop him; "I promise I won't do anything that can hurt you. You may trust me, remember?"

Seeley said it and continued inwardly: _"I hope, not promise..."_

"Listen to me," Booth whispered, sighed heavily.

"Well," he turned to him, looking with interest and doubt.

"Now close your eyes," the agent ordered. "Ready?"

"Let's say."

"Did you close your eyes or not?"

"I did!"

Booth offered his hands to him and unfastened the handcuffs craftily, making Pelant free. Christopher touched his bloody wrists and hide them quickly under the long sleeves of his shirt. He was surprised, he was confused as never before, but he also was thankful: he wasn't used to the fact that someone can be kind with him.

"Wow," the criminal opened his eyes again and averted them at once; "It's... wrong."

"Yes, I know," Seeley smiled, biting his lip.

"And are you not afraid of me? Not afraid I can... hurt you some way?"

"Afraid of you? Noooo, no way," laughed and shook his head; "Maybe you're a genius in the Net, but in real life you can't deal with me fairly."

"What? You think I'm too weak?"

Pleant knew perfectly that he's right and can cope with him in no time, but he saw fit to disagree.

"I didn't tell it," noticed Booth, putting up his first finger, but continued in his mind: _"You don't have the stomach to do it."_

"OK, but what if you may take the trap for this decision?"

"From Caroline? Don't worry about me. It's not worst of all things which I did improperly. Feeling better?"

"Uhh... I don't want to disappoint you, but what exactly must happen?"

"Nothing unbelievable, actually," Booth shrugged his shoulders; "Look, you're free, I'm near and there are nothing horrible in the darkness. You don't need to hide from it any more."

"Unfortunately, my curse is incurable," Christopher looked at him calmly, fatefully; "But thanks for your good intentions."

"Still going to drop a dime on me, a rat?" Seeley smiled politicly and lightly pushed him by his elbow.

"Not this time," the hacktivist answered softly, dropping hands on his knees; "Nice try, Agent Booth. Excellent, I would say. But you'll never grab me. I'm one step ahead, even now."

"You're crazy," he didn't get scared, didn't get angry, but only grinned involuntarily.

"And you always knew."

"And you were right: I'll never understand what's going on in your head."

"It was worth trying."

Pelant laughed quietly and stared at the steel closed doors. He was never afraid of the darkness. He pretended all the time.

He just wanted to check out how people can be tender with him if he looks helpless. He didn't hope that agent Booth will trust him because he invented such a stupid, silly phobia. He didn't has a plan, he didn't know that they will get stuck in the elevator, so he said whatever came uppermost, but the agent really trusted. Pelant couldn't believe that his theory will work so brilliantly for the first time, but he continued to lie him and observe what's happening. When Seeley finally opened the handcuffs, he understood suddenly that he can't do him an ill turn, how he was going to do before. Work — it's one thing, where they're arch-enemies and always ready to tear each other to pieces, but here and now, in the darkness and silence, they're just two men who suddenly got in trouble together. Christopher respected it, although he was an absolute asshole. He could see a difference between good things and bad things, between peoples attitudes towards him. And rarely, when he found the rubble of honor inside himself, he was able to talk without his selfishness.

"I think you should drink less coffee, you know. It has a bad influence on you," he said.

"Maybe," Booth shrugged and then looked up at him; "And you like me that more. You're a cattle, and your place is on the electric chair, but there is in you something that differs you from the others. Hope you understood me."

"Mutually. I'm sure the elevator will be fixed soon."

"Yes, me too. And you'll escape from us again like an annoying flea."

"Exactly. You need to lay yourself out to catch me."

"I hate you," he looked away, trying to hide his smile; "You enrage me."

Booth will never know how he was lucky with his decision: take too many pills.

* * *

 _"One good turn deserves another"._

* * *

 **Note:** thanks everyone who read this! Love you, guys;)


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